Picking Up The Pieces
by TF141Soldier
Summary: In the new world of the Mojave Wasteland, fighting continued, blood was spilled, and many lived and died - just as it had in the Old World. What if the Old World had a different twist?
1. Before the Beginning

"Well, I'll be. You're alive."

In the little far-away town of Goodsprings, more or less a flyover country, rarely anything happen. Probably the most that ever did go on was the drunk and disorderly, and half the time that was of just one person in the town. The tumbleweeds tumbled - folks never understand why they did that - it was less hot but still very damp, with a 24-hour saloon that still cast a neon sign over the dry landscape and a few houses here and there. In one particular house - a set up hospital - there was a woman, lying on Doc Mitchell's own bed.

She started to get up, light dancing in her vision, but soon a fierce pain attacked her torso, wrapping around her whole body like a vise. Damn!

"Whoa there, easy. You've been out cold a couple of days now." Doc Mitchell said, holding out a hand to stop her from rising. When the woman finally got her bearings, her panic was no longer there. He appeared to be a man of about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles coating his forehead.

The woman sat back. "Why don't ya just relax a second... get your bearings."

The woman barely even remembered what she was laying in - she was horribly woozy. Nonetheless, she laid back and looked for a wordless minute. She realized she was in a drab hospital - it had no attempt to even look appealing, with nothing but a wooden machine in the back, various medical equipment and bags scattered here and there, and behind the doctor a large bed with a wheel the size of an Anceau cart.

"Let's see what the damage is," Doc Mitchell sat back in his seat. "How about your name? Can ya tell me yer name?"

"Eleanor."

"Hmm... it's not what I'd of picked for you, but if that's yer name then that's yer name." Mitchell joked. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

Eleanor nodded. "This is where I am? Thought I was just in a drab house in a wasteland."

The doctor laughed, a hearty laugh; Eleanor already liked the guy. Nevermind that he saved her life. "Ah hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' around in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework."

Eleanor gulped. She'd been shot... or worse. What the fuck had happened to her? "But you'd better tell me if I let anything out of place." He knelt down and found a round mirror, which Eleanor took with a mute compliance. She expected a shaven head, with large stitches and a red outline where it stood. In fact, there was not. All Eleanor saw now was herself. A young woman, not a shade under twenty-five, with cocoa colored hair and a pointed nose - the stitch, right above her forehead, wasn't even noticeable. She sighed in relief.

"I think everything's fine. You know, things that matter."

Doc Mitchell chuckled. "Alrighty, no sense keeping you in bed anymore. Let's get you up and on yer feet." Mitchell extended his arms to help Eleanor up, to which she complied. The minute she got up, light swam into her vision and her head was afloat in agony. Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't good at all. "Whoa..."

"Not bad. Here, follow me to the livin' room. Need ta take some tests, see if your gears are spinnin'." Mitchell explained, leading her through a narrow doorway. The room looked the same, the only thing different a brightly colored green couch: probably the only colorful thing Eleanor had seen. Hesitantly, she took a seat, swearing mentally as her ass clenched in pain, and then Doc Mitchell took a seat across from her.

He then presented her a metal, shelf-looking device; Eleanor knew, by looking at it, it was a projector. "Okay. I'm gonna say a word. Say the first thing that comes to mind."

"Dog."

"Kick."

"House."

"Burglarize."

"Night."

"Dream."

"Bandit."

"Swiss cheese."

"Mother."

"Human Shield."

Mitchell held back a wince at that last part, which Eleanor didn't see. "Alrighty. Now, I have a few statements. When I say them, tell me how much they sound like somethin' you'd say. Either agree, no opinion, or disagree. Somethin' like that."

Eleanor was starting to get worried. She knew these were standard medical questions, but she knew that she should be interrogating him. Where was she, other than the obvious answer Goodsprings? What happened to her? Where was the rest of her stuff? A click sounded, and the projector turned on, showing a lapse of images. Doc Mitchell cleared his throat and began.

"First: Conflict just ain't in my nature."

"..Agree."

"I ain't given to relying on others for support."

"No opinion."

"I'm always fixin' to be the center of attention."

"Agree."

"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."

"Strongly disagree."

"I charge in to deal with my problems head-on."

"Strongly agree."

Doc Mitchell nodded, then he switched out a photo cartridge and put in another. This time, the images popped up as odd drawings, none of which had any shape or size. "Have a look at this one: tell me what you see."

Eleanor studied it with disinterest. "An angry two-headed ant."

His eyebrows barely moved. "This one."

"I'm too embarrased to say it."

Mitchell chuckled. "Aaand this one?"

"A bearded man."

The projector soon switched off, and the old film was taken out. "Well, that's all she wrote. Let's get you on yer merry way." If he was a little worried, he didn't show it. He probably got crazier patients, Eleanor hoped. She eagerly got up, and then she was handed her heavy backpack. Instinctively, she searched through the sack: everything was there. In a separate bedroom, she switched out of her nightshirt into a Vault 13 suit: it was an old thing, relatively clean but pretty dusty. It would have to do. She checked her ammunition - very low - and her water supply, then began to head out.

"Thanks for taking care of me." Eleanor said.

"Think nothin' of it. If you ever need anythin', come back here."

"How was I brought here? What happened to me?"

Mitchell's face darkened, and Eleanor feared the answer. "You weren't tortured or nothin', if that's what you mean. You were shot in the head by a group of Legionnaires." Caesar's Legion, of course. "However, some girl dragged you in, carrying you like you were virtually nothing. She brought your pack back and everything."

Eleanor made a note of that. Somebody carried her here? "Who is this person who did that?"

"I don't know. She never said her name, but she was polite to a fault. I think she's still in town, if you want to take a look."

Eleanor simply nodded, wondering she took anything from her backpack. "Okay, thank you Doctor." She suddenly remembered she had almost no caps - she'd have to see Mitchell again later about the money question, but she had bigger fish to fry. She stepped out the door into the blistering Mojave sun.

Mitchell wasn't kidding. The town wasn't really anything - tumbleweeds blew everywhere, with only a couple houses, a closed-down gas station with soap still smearing the windows, and the only real attraction being a two-story building of shingles and timber. That looked important. Very important. She wasn't giving up here without confronting this woman - a part of her wanted to bow on her knees, though an aching part of her body told her something had been stolen. That it was a ruse. Eleanor found the bar door and stepped in.

It looked as appealing as Doc Mitchell's house, with substantial lighting and nothing really appearing. It was a bar - a saloon, what an old Western hoot - with a stock of bottles on numerous, weathered shelves. Only a few people were actually in the bar - the barkeeper was a woman probably older than Eleanor, with her hair tied back and donning a long dress: she wasn't behind the bar, though. Standing in front of her was a black man in a trench coat, who seemed to have a scowl on his face and talking in a whisper. Don't trust him. Eleanor heard a dog. There was but one woman there who was actually sitting at the bar, drinking out of a cup as if the fight between the barkeeper and the evil guy wasn't going on.

This was what Eleanor wanted. She stood next to the woman. "Hello?"

At the noise, the woman turned towards Eleanor. And when she did, Eleanor was glad she did. This woman was really beautiful. Eleanor's skin was a darker caucasian, but this woman's skin was all white. Pale, porcelain white that lit up the room. She was only wearing a black t-shirt and long jeans, though Eleanor could tell there was some armor underneath the shirt near the belly. Her blue eyes accented the face, her honeyed red hair spilled on the table, and her white teeth completely shone. Half the people Eleanor knew didn't even have teeth close to dark white. Damn.

"Oh. You." the redhead said, though perked up and extended a hand. "Name's Sonya."

"Sonya?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out." She shook Eleanor's hand even though she hadn't offered it. "What brings you here? Gonna drown your sorrows? Get a worse headache in the morning that you already do?"

Eleanor plunked down on the seat next to her, cupping her hands together. "Okay, Sonya. Hi..." she cleared her throat. Just be frank with her. "Are you the one who carried me in the town?"

Her face not betraying anything, she swallowed her drink - which smelled very much like Sarsaparilla - and shook her head. "Not a clue. I just... you know... assumed you were shot here."

Eleanor sighed, then turned her attention to the barkeeper and the man in the jacket. The pretty boy - which she meant in a mocking way - was now clenching a revolver. Okay, now her senses were heightened.

"I'm DONE being nice." The man said in a low voice, almost a growl. Eleanor sat back, almost in fear. "If you don't hand Ringo over soon, I'm gonna get my friends and we're burning this town to the ground. You GOT IT?"

Suddenly, Sonya jumped up. Eleanor almost stopped her, but with a quick hand, she made a quick movement and suddenly caught the revolver in the man's hand. Before he could make a move, she had instantly gotten him in a headlock - only then did Eleanor notice just how strong she was. The butt of the gun was clenched by her side, an unthreatening movement, but that was deliberately so.

"We'll keep that in mind." Sonya said, almost irritatingly cheerful.

"If you aren't here to buy somethin', get out." the barkeeper said, clearly trying to keep her cool. Eleanor herself remained without. The dog Eleanor saw earlier was barking now.

"Grrr! Fine. Let me go." the man said quickly. Sonya obeyed. The man straightened his jacket and his shoulders, then stormed out of the bar with a slam on the door.

Eventually Eleanor learned just who this bastard was. She talked to the brunette barkeeper about it - Trudy was her name - and learned that his name was Joe Cobb. He had been a part of a chain gang near a former NCR prison. Already Eleanor felt bad for the guy - the NCR just took whatever they wanted. Keeping her mouth shut, he had organized a rebellion against the soldiers: except that this time, it was quantity over quality that won out. The soldiers were slaughtered or executed publicly, and they soon began to build a new life around it. They called themselves Powder Gangers, due to the powder-loaded pistols they used. You didn't want to get on their bad side.

"They've been lookin' for a runaway who calls himself Ringo, though." Trudy continued, who was wiping her glass. By the time Joe had left, the moon had already stood a hand over Goodsprings. Sonya hadn't moved from her spot. "I guess with all the talk of the possible revolution, they want to get in on it as much as they can. A chance at the NCR."

"Are you gonna give them to 'em?" Sonya interjected, answering the question Eleanor had.

"No, we're not backstabbers. I personally don't care if they come in and take him, or if he comes crawling back to them. But they're threatening to kill us all if we don't give that coward to them."

"Then do it." Eleanor said, feeling annoyed. Trudy just looked coolly at Eleanor.

"That's the thing - I know they're not gonna stop just by getting Ringo back. They'll be doing the only thing they're good at: murdering and slaughtering and taking the easy way out. They'll come to raid us and I'm sick of it."

Suddenly, Sonya's face seemed to light up like moonlit milk. She looked ready to tackle something all of a sudden. She bounced up, peeled off some caps from her pocket, left them on the counter and ran out of the bar. Well, that was... strange. Curiouser and curiouser. Sure, Sonya may not of been the person she was looking for, but that was just odd of her to blast right out of there. Bidding Trudy goodbye, she walked out of the saloon herself.

Eleanor almost thought Sonya half-crazy when she saw her run into the abandoned gas station she had found earlier. Almost all of it was rusting away, but it still seemed sturdy. If there were still cars around, maybe Eleanor could wire something and get the station in working order. There was one small hole in the wall, but that was all Eleanor needed. It was a bad habit, but it got her to know things she shouldn't. Taking a cover behind a rock, she peeked through the hole.

The interior was a wreck, every last shelf tipped over and filled with debris. But she did see Sonya... and something else. This had to of been Ringo. This man wasn't bad looking, with a strong chin and a neat haircut. His coveralls looked caked with dust and sand, and he and Sonya seemed to be talking up a storm.

"...And think of it like this! We don't have to feed you over to the Powder Gangers! We could just riot against them!"

Ringo seemed to be lost in thought about this. "Well, I heard they're afraid I'm gonna shoot 'em through the windows. Personally, doesn't sound like too bad of an idea.

"Well I'm not gonna through you to the dogs." Sonya offered.

"Yeah, that's assuming the rest of the town agrees with ya. I have no chance against the gang on my own, or even if I come back."

"That's what I'm saying! We should fight them!" Sonya exclaimed. All at once, Sonya understand. He wasn't just hanging here for a visit - Ringo was on the lam. A hideaway. He had probably done something very bad, and Sonya wanted to defend this man's honor. Probably forming a militia out of Goodsprings in the end... it didn't sound like a bad idea.

Ringo seemed to stroke his chin - if he had a beard, it would of been completely fitting. Sonya then ran out of the house after Eleanor heard a few unintelligible words from Ringo. Practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, she skidded back down to the saloon. Hm.

Her predicition wasn't wrong. It rarely ever was.

She had found Sonya and a girl named Sunny Smiles - nearly as good looking as her, kitty likes - who also seemed to be talking up a storm with her, making plans, organizing things. Eleanor caught little bits here and there:

"-He and his friends will come after the town eventually. That's inevitable."

"...convince Trudy."

"-there's a shipment of armor we could borrow."

Eleanor could only sit back as Sonya acted as her brilliantly helpful self. Now that she knew what she was looking at, it made more and more logical sense to her. At first, it just seemed impulsive, but she completely understood the idea. They had to act now while it was their due and duty... Sonya seemed better than them. Of course she was.

Over the next few days, there wasn't one useless labourer in the town. Eleanor did nothing much more but hand out ammunition. Sonya had wheeled in good timber, some medicine, and everything the beleaugered townsfolk here needed to get their rebellion in working order. Eleanor hadn't ever imagined that two nights after waking up, she'd find herself armed with a hunting rifle, overlooking flat hills. She had trouble just getting in ammunition - thankfully, the town's grocer, Chet, helped her sort out the hollow points and special ammunition. Everyone had five cartridges, which was nearly all of the town's supply, but Sonya said she knew where to find some more. They'd hung up a flag, dragged out overturned tables and crates and timber to make cover with. Everyone had armor - which ached Eleanor's breasts - and a gun.

Eleanor more or less just felt like a fetch-and-catch dog, but that was all she could really do in her condition. It hurt every once in a while, a throbbing pain that took her whole person to not whip out a stimpak and heal herself. Medicine was scarce in this city, so it was fortune that slapped the town's backs when Doc Mitchell gave most of his supplies. He said that nobody ever came into the old clinic anyways, though Eleanor still felt a little guilty when she wheeled it out.

She had lingered around the bar on the third night, the night of the revolution, for about an hour. She had asked all the townsfolk, everyone she could find, but nobody knew who had brought her in. Had he or she ran off with stuff of hers? Was that person dead? Eleanor would of given any caps she had - which she didn't - to find that person.

A half hour before the fight began, Sunny and Sonya had taken Eleanor out back for training on how to shoot. They had set up things to shoot when all the junk that could be used for cover was taken, and cleared up fragments for Eleanor. Her gun was more or less a relic, but it still shot fiercely. The power in her hands was insane. She was sloppy, though got more creative in how she did it. They both pushed her on the entire time like an annoying lieutenant.

"Crouch down!"

"Don't put so much weight on your forearm."

"Put it on your shoulder!"

"You'll shoot yer eye out if you hold it like that."

At night, Goodsprings had been turned into a fortress. The town held about twenty people, and they were all willing to fight. Ten of them had been established outside, using crates and paving stones and barrels for a custom barricade. A cart had been overturned. Another five were stationed in the windows of the Goodsprings Saloon: two in the upper story of Chet's store. The last of them held themselves in the attic of the Saloon.

So they waited.

It didn't take long. A horde of Powder Gangers had rose up from the hill when the stars were bright and the night was full - about forty. These twenty people were dealing with a force twice their size. Every one of the Powder Gangers who had better weapons than them, better armor, but they weren't as prepared as the Goodsprings folk were. That, and they had the night for advantage. The Gangers couldn't see the new militia of Trudy - for Sonya no longer looked to leading them - until the actual fight would begin. Eleanor herself had positioned herself under a little barricade of barrels and crates, and was only armed with a Varmint Rifle. Trudy's previous advice to her was 'don't die.'

"Don't fire yet." Trudy whispered. The Gangers were pretty far away, more than the range of their weapons could fire. "They don't know that we know they're here. Economize the bullets - I had to melt my forks for these rounds."

The Powder Gangers soon marched. It was clear they knew a fight was going to happen - obviously, note the big gang - but they wouldn't expect the fierce resistance. Eleanor was sure they'd win. All of the settlers had spoke with the report of their weapons, the leveled click of the bolts on the guns.

"Goodsprings! I'm calling you out!" Joe Cobb instantly screamed. Eleanor raised her gun.

"Give 'em hell!" A flash of fire erupted the quiet city.

It was terrible for a minute. The city probably hadn't seen gunfire smoke in a while, and half of the Settlers' arms all shook. Thankfully, the first assault was successful - a few of the Gangers were badly hurt, rocks were knocked over, dust was blown in their face, and they were all disoriented and misthrown.

"KILL THEM!" Joe Cobb instantly screamed. Soon, bullets spit from both directions.

Staying next to Sunny - which Eleanor now considered the safest place in the whole war - Eleanor continued the fire herself. Feeling the gun jump in her arms, she used the crates around her for good cover. A handful of the settlers had already been wounded, but not enough to sweep them off their feet. One settler had pitched out a Ganger with a pistol. The men and women in the bar had used the windows to their advantage, and the two stationed in Chet's store had four more guns in case anyone needed it - which they could toss in case an insurgent ran out of ammunition.

The Powder Gangers were just as fierce. In a matter of minutes, three Settlers outside had fallen. Another settler had been shot right in the mouth, and had fallen out of the window, landing on another settler with a death rattle.

One Ganger had shot the rifle out of Eleanor's hands. The force blew her back, though now she remained without cover. A vigorous hand had seized her by the chest, however, and had hid her expertly behind a rock: Sonya. Sunny Smiles and Trudy were now leading the attack, each of them untouched by the balls. Sunny had caved in the skull of a Ganger with a golf club, when he had the dumb idea of actually charging them head-on.

The flag had been knocked over, and the cart was riddled with rounds. Still the fighting continued. The wounded had been put into the bar, which now served as a safe haven and a hospital. Sonya was a will o' the wisp - the bullets refused her. She capped off multiple shots with deadly accuracy, and crouched when necessary.

One thing totally changed the whole game, though. It had been a matter of ten minutes, but the leader, Joe, who was uninjured, had a different idea. Eleanor saw it before she heard it - the arc of it, how she was to slow to move before it blew. A frag grenade. The concussive spray erupted the scene, and soon Eleanor was blown back by its force. It was awful: it had wounded some Settlers who remained standing - Eleanor could clearly see Trudy's foot crippled by the blow, flowing with some blood. Still, they continued the fire, but the Gangers now had the upper hand.

A Settler had an arrow fired into the crook of their neck, and bled to death alive. Sonya had tried to raise two barrels, but a settler in front of her had been shot eight times in a row, and fell on Sonya; that knocked the barrels out of her arms. Sunny instantly waved her arms to the bar: the two positioned in Chet's house remained there, but there was barely anybody outside.

Eleanor couldn't move - she wasn't paralyzed, she could feel her fingers and move them, but she had difficulty getting up. A Settler had tried to lift her, but was shot right in front of her. Eleanor felt she had been shot, the sting of it. It sucked. However, she felt herself lifted up by something much stronger than her, and suddenly she was inside the sudden oasis of the Saloon. She rolled her head just to see Sonya drop her on the floor - how many times would she have to thank this woman for saving her life? - and watch Sunny and a handful of Settlers barricade the door.

Suddenly, Eleanor heard the dog, Cheyenne, barking out of an open window. Almost all of the windows had been barricaded with bookcases, but a single window was open. The Gangers' fierce progress had been stopped. A low growl rose up from the girl's throat, her teeth bared. Before Eleanor even had time to know what was about to happen, all twenty-four of the Gangers still standing raised their guns.

"Kill the dog!"

A flash shook the bar, and twenty-four bullets riddled the dog at once. One whine, it was over. Sunny howled herself, and soon barricaded that window. Sunny didn't even have to process the pain before Sonya jumped onto the bar table.

"Move the wounded to the upper stories of the bar and position two to the windows that aren't fully barricaded! If they storm the house, hit them with whatever you've got left!"

Her order was passed out in just a second - the wounded who hadn't died were carried up, and five people had established themselves at the covered windows, all of them holding back the Gangers. Suddenly, a loud crumbling sound shook the bar again: it was the sound of crushing wood. Just when Eleanor had shut her eyes, thinking the bar had been stormed when she had just gotten on her feet, she realized it wasn't. It was Chet's store.

She looked out the window, and realized the Gangers had focused their attention on the three or four in Chet's storehouse. They had fired on it hard enough for the whole foundation to collapse, and it went down in pillowing clouds of dust. The insurgent on the left window was flung out, still alive, screaming the whole way down: he broke his neck. The other one was been killed by falling wood. The third on the tiled roof had slipped and fallen right into one of the bar windows, and landed on broken glass.

The only one alive was an old man - Eleanor didn't even know his name. An old black man, with wrinkles older than a sun-dried raisin and hair grayer than anyone she'd ever seen. They raised their guns and had caved the man's skull in with a loose piece of wood. It was over in an instant. The violence of it was astonishing, more so than earlier.

"If they're going to take over the bar, we need to figure out a way to keep them out!" Sunny announced, stuffing her pockets with cartridges. They had barricaded it enough to at least buy them a minute or two.

"In twenty-five seconds, it won't matter!" Trudy said, cradling her injured foot a little. "Have 3 of 'em shoot from the windows."

"Hey... Sonya." Eleanor weakly said, who had put space between herself and the rebels.

Everyone turned to the redhead. She was making raspberries to the Gangers. What the hell? Making various child-like noises, putting her fingers to her ears, was that child dumb? Bullets were flying at her, but she had cover with the bookcase. Eleanor had no idea what she was doing, and numerous Settlers were yelling at her. However, before she had time to shake some sense into Sonya, the latter girl had grabbed her gun, aimed at the roof, and fired.

Suddenly, Eleanor heard the tumble of buckling metal and falling debris: suddenly she realized what happened. Sonya had made the Gangers come hither to the bar, and had secretly placed some concealed debris up on the roof. When she fired at it, it dropped to the gorund and killed several Gangers. Their twenty were now of twelve.

All in the bar applauded. However, that was stopped when the bar door suddenly flung open. It was a bloodied Joe Cobb, who looked out of focus but holding his revolver at his side.

It was Trudy who made the first jump at him: she had grabbed a bottle of beer and broke it over his head - her gun had long since ran out of bullets - and hit him so hard he just melted. More Gangers tried to jump in through the window, but soon Eleanor had gotten up and beat them over the head with the stock of her gun - one she had speared right in the throat and shot. Soon, the Gangers had indeed stormed the bar, but the Goodsprings Folk had put enough space between them and the former convicts that there was enough to fire long-range and close-range fighting.

It was a whirlwind. Sunny and a handful of other Settlers had gotten the idea that Trudy had: they all grabbed wine bottles and flung them at their heads, which hacked their faces with wounds before they fired on them. The Gangers still had guns, but the Settlers had more. Sonya helped support Eleanor with a strong arm, and fired with a free hand. One moustached Ganger had gotten into a fistfight with Sunny, but who had soon grabbed him by the head and slammed his head into a table hard enough to chip a tooth. More and more shots were fired, and several Gangers fell. A Settler had broken the edge of a bottle right into a Ganger's open wound; an old man had flung a young Ganger out of a window and then beat him with the barrel of his Varmint Rifle. The debris the Goodsprings folk had used for cover were now used as weapons. Sonya had broke a barrel in an avalanche of splintering wood over a leader. Two Settlers killed a Ganger by charging him with an overturned table. One more shot and it was over.

Bodies and bullets littered the floor. Goodsprings had won and was redeemed.

However, there was now one man alive on his feet: Joe Cobb. He stood up, wincing, and just looked at the Goodsprings Settlers, with the look of a man who knew he would die. His face was impassive - the anger on his face was obvious.

"How about we shoot him on the spot?" a voice rang out from the throng of townsfolk. This was Ringo. Eleanor and Sonya shared a look, then nodded.

"Agreed. Let him die in a disrespectful manner." another middle-aged man announced. He had no weapon left.

The one who would give out the order was Ringo: he, in fact, used the last bullet in his pistol for this special occasions. All Cobb would do was snicker. "I'd figure you'd turn piddly shit one day." All guns raised at Cobb.

"Fire."

Soon, without one bullet missing, Cobb was struck and lay down on a bar stool, as if he was simply sitting there. Goodsprings applauded. Sonya had hugged Eleanor, in a fierceness that both embarrased and surprised Eleanor. Sunny still seemed hurt by the execution of her dog, Cheyenne, but roared louder than all. Eleanor, all business, made her way through the folk to Trudy, who was counting on her fingers.

"How many are left alive?"

Trudy thought a moment. "Including Doc Mitchell?"

"Out of twenty, we still have a fresh eleven."

"Make that thirteen."

All turned their heads to two alive heads in the doorway - Chet, the storeowner, and another man in an armored suit. How had they survived the collapse of that building? Sunny said that exactly. Chet had actually escaped through the back and had made his way into the bar from the back entrance: however, it was barricaded, so he went back out and hid himself and the man between some columns and emerged when it was through.

"Coward." Sonya joked, punching Chet in the arm playfully."

"Hey, you stole my guns!" Chet said defensively. "Bah, from the looks of it, I'm surprised to see a lot of you aren't even wounded." He touched Eleanor's shoulder. "Hey, if you ever drop by, in a reserve drawer in my house I have 300 caps. Those are yours."

Eleanor raised her eyebrows. Fortune smiled on her thrice now. She simply nodded thanks. For now, all was fine.


	2. A Little About Sonya Kaiser

"Fly by night, away from here

Change my life again

Fly by night, goodbye my dear

My ship isn't coming and I just can't pretend"

- Rush, Fly by Night

CHAPTER 2

By TF141Soldier

Before the next day began, Sonya awoke.

Sonya Kaiser, exactly twenty-four years of age, young and intense, was born in 2257 and was of the Enclave.

Sonya's birthplace was in Primm, long before it became almost impossible to live in. Her mother, Jeanne, was thirty-one when she had Sonya. Jeanne's thirty years of age appeared to be thirty-five, with shades of gray already showing on her orange hair. The mother had earned her living in being with the Enclave, even long after the catastrophe at the oil rig of 2242. There was an Enclave force who were dedicated to helping preserve the peace of the Mojave Desert, and it paid well for Jeanne and just felt moral. However, that all changed soon and the Enclave virtually disappeared. Jeanne simply quit and was as AWOL as the Remnants there, but had earned up enough to live in "the other Vegas" and enjoyed Primm.

Sonya's father was thirty-five when she was born. His name was Nate, and was a well-built black man, who dedicated his life to being a police deputy in Primm, with a cut beard and a sturdy torso. He was originally from Freeside, though he said he had left the minute the Kings had taken over the town. He said they were simply "ridiculous". There, he dedicated his life to being a bit of a gambler, taking care of the disorderly, and being a peacekeeper. They met over a game of blackjack when Nate came twenty caps down. Sonya came eleven months later, there being two months before the pregnancy.

The pregnancy was difficult but easy, and Sonya was a beautiful young girl. She was smart, that was for sure. Her family wasn't rich but saw to what she wanted, which was usually close to nothing. Sonya educated herself mostly through books of medical science and engineering, and loved books of science fiction: her parents had kept a cardboard box of old books that were still able to be read clearly: i20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Oliver Twist, Les Miserables./i She was also a very competitive young girl - always fixing to be stronger, she rarely got into fights because no one really wanted to take her on - and her temper was close to nothing. She was kind, patient to a fault, and just so... good. Sonya was a star student, and a perfect child. Funky.

She hadn't even begun to earn her living when Primm was taken over. This is what happened, we will be brief.

It happened when the Powder Gangers stormed out of the prison. That was the problem about the town, it was too close to the FEMA (Fix Everything, My Ass) prison and the sounds of the chain gang working sounded through the town at night. So when they broke out, they started to take control of the localities around them. Her father and the new Deputy Beagle, then a trim young man, had organized a barricade and formed a defense. They'd keep out whoever crossed their path.

The problem was, the NCR got involved. Sonya had never liked the NCR, or Caesar's Legion - she believed in forces like The Boomers, and the Enclave, and the Brotherhood of Steel: they were gods to Sonya. The NCR just kept their throne warm in the West Coast. Their drab armor plates, their indifferent tones, their snarl of outposts and idiotic leaders. Sonya never expressed these democratic thoughts in public - she didn't even have to be taught that - but it was clear her parents and those around her in Primm thought that.

So the Gangers soon began to take over the town - Sonya could hear the shuttery pops of gunfire rise over the humped ridge of the barricade they made of the town at night, in bed. Sometimes she'd stay up half the night with her mother, looking at the starlit sky, just hoping they wouldn't be invaded. But they were. And on the day it happened, everything went sour.

The Gangers invaded their town in a loud burst - the barricade was pointless now, and the NCR had begun a full-scale war against them in the streets. They didn't even have a single thought about the citizens of Primm. A quick decision was made by the municipal council of Primm, and soon everyone holed themselves up in the Vikki and Vance Casino, the brightly lit oasis of gamblers and alcohol. Sonya had been in there a few times, and always won. So it almost broke her heart when she was the only girl to escape town.

How did she do it? The Nash residence, that's what. Most of the firefights had occured around the old Bison Steve Hotel - not much of a hotel, just a ruined relic - and the huge, broken down roller coaster. Sonya had climbed out of a window, and hid herself between some columns. A pack of Powder Gangers and NCR flung bullets from both sides of her, though the cinder block foundation gave Sonya protection. Soon, she crawled back out and found the two-story house of the Mojave Express; containing a large neon sign with capitol letters and three large windows. One of the neater houses on the block.

Sonya saw how she could do it. Positioning a wooden box on top of a few paving stones, she climbed the tiled roof and vaulted over it, then used the bars on one of the top windows to swing onto the roof of an adjoining cell - with a bang and a little slide, she used a yucca grave to make it to the ground safely. Armed with a rifle and a little over a hundred rounds, a water canteen, and her quick wits - she mentally said goodbye, and escaped into the Wastes.

How she made it to the Strip she had no idea. The large center could be shown in the distance, even with its lights never on, and she knew it couldn't be very far. That's where she wanted to go - where the warheads had avoided. She ran most of the way, rode in Caravans if they were willing for a bit, got in some fights, never had a problem with starvation or dehydration, and had enough caps to get through. The caps she needed to pay, though, were all she in the world. Maybe jobs were easier in The Strip, or its adjoining city, Freeside. But she had been taken away by the wild energy of the city, its pulsing life. Sure, there were too many drunk NCR soldiers, too many dancing prostitutes, but she liked it anyways.

She found lodging in Vault 21. 21 had long since been gutted of its useful technology, though the overlord Mr. House (Sonya thought he had a few flaws, but no political talk) had instead turned it into an old diner and cafe. That was what Sonya was looking for, and she had talked to the owner, Sarah Weintraub. This dark blonde was a bit of an odd ball, considering she suffered too much from agoraphobia and talkative, though her personality was committed and compromising. Eventually Sonya had gotten free lodging there, and it was practically her home - out of morality, after earning her living with the Followers of the Apocalypse, she still paid Sarah every now and then.

It was odd how Sonya found herself in Goodsprings later, for a simple expedition. Strange how fate works that way.

An expedition was how Sonya, the Follower, the pro-Enclavist, this democrat and this rebel at heart found herself in Goodsprings. Sonya had instantly been taken away by this small little settlement - the kind folk, the good crops, the excellent medical service and the surprisingly tasteful alcohol. She was giving it some heavy consideration once her work for the Followers of the Apocalypse was done in the next ten or twenty years; this was her future home. And it seems Eleanor wanted to leave.

Two days after the furious rebellion, it was the talk of the town. Probably this would cast a message to the Powder Gangers - to stay away and know who they're messing with next time. And it seemed like Eleanor was being rewarded for her efforts - in money, in ammunition, and Ringo had even considered giving her a discount whenever she encountered The Crimson Caravan; which was a roving and highly successful barter company. But Sonya could tell Eleanor was not impressed or interested - and eager to leave, it looked like; her backpack was loaded.

To clean up after what had happened in Goodsprings had taken a while. When Eleanor had decided to get out, they were still repairing. The settlers that had died - a total of eight or nine - had been given a respectful funeral, hosted by Doc Mitchell himself. The Gangers had simply been tossed into some thick dirt. They had to dust off the bar, clear away the fragments, sweep away the bullets, redistribute them, dress the wounded, and the bar had been put in working order. Outside, all of the crates were mostly full of smashed bottles and the massive cart was demolished - these were finished off, and the wine that wasn't blown off was also redistributed amongst the townsfolk. Chet's storehouse would be a bit of a challenge, so he relocated the store into his own house.

One morning, on a bright and windy day, Eleanor simply strolled into the bar - Sunny was sitting on a bar stool hunched over eggs, Sonya and a few other Settlers were chatting up a storm. Eleanor made her announcement.

"I'm getting out of this dump. Thank you for the help and money."

Most just glared at her, due to the original one-liner, but Sonya stared at her attentively. "Thank you for the kind words. Now if you're gunna insult us like that, then please see yourself out quicker." Trudy spat, wiping down the bar with sopping napkins. Eleanor felt no sting from that like she should. Sonya had instantly marched up to her, her usually glowing eyes now just looking stern.

"So you expect to just get out there without any direction, or a map, and barely any weaponry on you?" Sonya asked.

Damn, she's too good. "Yes. I can find my way, I can't go completely crazy in a couple of days."

"At least let us help you."

Eleanor felt chastened. She made a final decision. "You know what, you can. Give me that map." She pointed to an aged thing in Sonya's back pocket, very thin. She didn't wait for Sonya to give it to her, but simply snatched it away - surely she had another map. Eleanor quietly said thanks to everyone, and then stepped out. Sunny almost seemed hurt by how quick the traveler wanted to get out.

"Man, we save her life and for what? For her to call this town trash." Chet mentioned from the back, spinning a coffee mug in his hand.

"And she took my map." Sonya said glumly.

Eleanor had reached the foot of Primm straight after noon. In places, it wasn't a path or trail at all - in fact, there was nothing much there but a demolished road and the only sight in distance a large building. Though there was something very wrong - mounds of debris holed up the city: garbage bins, paving stones, furniture stained with age. Eleanor had tried multiple ways to get around the NCR stationed there, steathily avoided and attempting to jump over the blockade. First time, she hurt her ankle. The second time, she was pretty much clawed by a shopping cart. The third time, it was just too high with not enough things to climb on. Eventually it was inevitable.

The minute she found the California flag, a recruit soldier came running up to her. "Hey, where the hell do you think you're going?" He asked in a gruff voice. "Primm is off limits."

"H'm. Like you can stop me." Eleanor muttered. She spoke up: "What's going on in there?"

"Some convicts from the FEMA prison up there busted out, and they took over Primm. Everyone in there is either dead or in hiding. Or worse." Eleanor didn't push on the 'or worse' part, but soon turned into the interrogator role. This was important - she didn't have nearly enough time; she had to go somewhere.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?" Eleanor quipped.

"We'd love to, but they don't fall under NCR jurisdiction." the recruit explained. God damn NCR, Eleanor thought. She wasn't going to stand her under the hot wind being confronted by a poser in an armor suit.

"Why'd don't you protect them?"

"We don't have the equipment to take out the convicts, and even if we did..." Oh, you don't? Eleanor had forgotten the part where these supercilious, pompous overlords had taken over all of the West Coast; maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe she'd find a Vertibird one day and just fly off to Washington or something. Even if there were none left.

The NCR boy promptly directed her to a local leader, and advised her to go back to Goodsprings. Bullshit. Not when she had to go farther north. Whatever was happening in here was wasting her time - what opulence! Eleanor stayed on the west side to avoid getting a bullet in her chest, and avoided numerous landmines, crossed over wood and creaky, custom-made bridges; eventually she came into the little shit of what Primm used to be. What Sonya's hometown used to be.

And boy, were there Gangers. Dozens of them, practically patrolling the street near the roller coaster and a broken down gas station, all dressed in dumbass gang outfit and armed with a rifle. Half of these posers weren't even welterweights. She crept passed the walls, trusting on various dropped debris and buildings to hide her, crouching or laying down if necessary, then getting back up to move further in the city. Probably there had to be some decent people here - the boy had mentioned a casino.

That was what she was looking for now - a place donning the name Vikki and Vance; were there any survivors? Or was it full of Gangers. Nonetheless, Eleanor pushed into the door, and probably saw a lot better than what she expected. She saw a dozen or so, all wandering the room, doing much of nothing or just moving their slack-jawed faces around the room. Some talked, most didn't, and Eleanor saw one try to take a crack at a game of slots. But smack dab in the center of the room was a Securitron robot with a ridiculous cowboy hat positioned on his metal dome of a head. Maybe this model was programmed to talk. Strolling up to the stupid thing, she did just that.

"Howdy, partner. Welcome to the Vikki and Vance Casino and Museum!" it announced in its crackling voice. "Primm Slim at yer service. Authentic cowpoke and official spokesbot of the Vikki and Vance Casino and Museum! Yee-haw!"

It was a shame when the damn robot was more friendly than anybody she'd met so far. Eleanor continued: "What's with the Bison Steve Hotel across the street?"

The robot cleared his throat, and his tone seemed to almost darken. "The Bison Steve is one of Primm's less-impressive casino hotels. I'd reckon you steer clear of that place, pardner, if I were you." Programmed to say that. What a brilliant marketing ploy. "Rumor is the dealers over there cheat, and that rickety roller-coaster's liable to fall down any day cause it wasn't built ta code." Huh. That explains the stupid coaster.

"Who were Vikki and Vance?"

"Where you been, pardner? Hiding under a rock?" The damn robot actually sounded incredulous. Eleanor let it pass and let the Securitron continue.

"Vikki and Vance were this county's fourth or fifth most infamous celebrity couple ever, that's who they was! Primm Slim here can tell you the whole story, if you can spare a minute to hear the tale."

Eleanor noticed an old but trim black man eyeing her, and she was sure others were as well. She pretty much had no where else to go. "Sure, what the hell. Things are pretty dead here then."

The robot exclaimed: "Ya-hoo! I ain't a chance to tell their tale in years."

"First things first: if you've heard any rumors about Vikki and Vance being copycats ain't nothin' but ill-tempered slander. Fact is, they begun their crime spree two days before Bonnie and Clyde even dreamed theirs up. So who copied who? Now true, the V duo didn't exactly cut a wide swath of murder and robbery across America, like Bonnie and Clyde did. It was more like a narrow swath of... shoplifting, cash-checking frauds, and gas pump driveoffs... but crime is crime! They also drove reckless. Having lived by the gun - Vance owned way, anyway - it was only fitting the duo of desperados would die by the gun. Perhaps it was fate itself that drove them inta a crossfire b'tween police and a gang of bank robbers in Plano, Texas. Or maybe they just didn't notice until it was too late. It's been said Vikki would of tried to cash a bad check, had she lived. We'll never know for sure. All we know is the crossfire tore the car and the occupents t' shreds. The police had issued an official apology, though that didn't have much effect, considering they were dead."

Eleanor let the story sick in, sounding like almost a complete ripoff of the Bonnie and Clyde tale, but she hadn't read or heard a good story in a long while, and this was pretty easily pictured; their reckless driving, if cars even worked back then, their slack faces and their probable crime life.

"You can visit the Death Car over yonder, and there's Vance's Machine Gun in th' case next to it!"

Eleanor had no interest in it, but nonetheless noted the Machine Gun for later. She decided to take a look at the black man who had been looking at her earlier - he was definitely old, good into his sixties, with a trim black haircut and coveralls. "Ah don't know what brought you to Primm, youngster, but you'd best rethink your plans. This town has gone to hell."

Well, damn. That's a fine how do you do. "Who are you?"

He sounded kinder when he spoke now. "Johnson Nash is my name. Husband to Ruby. I've lived in Primm for eight years now, through thick and thin. And through hell and back. I'm a trader for the most part, and ah run the Mojave Express here. Surely you've heard of it."

Oh yes she had. Eleanor forgot about what she had done with Courier Two and simply asked, "What happened in the Bison Steve over there."

Nash took a long, dry smoke and then blew. "Well it started with that prison up the road. At first just a few thugs roamin' around here and there, but now they rolled into a full, organized gang. Now they call themselves Powder Gangers or somethin' like that. Little while ago they tried to squeeze out all the food and drink they could out of us, shooting the whole way. Our Deputy is bein' held hostage in the Hotel now."

Eleanor gestured towards the door. "Say I go and get this deputy of yours. What's in it for me?"

Nash seemed surprised, the wrinkles on his face raised up with his eyebrows. "What's in it for you? You'll earn our respect, youngster." At Eleanor's annoyed look, he continued: "If we had caps to spare, we'd give them to you - probably Beagle will pay you, though that boys as useful as tits on a radscorpion. So if you could rescue th' poor boy, we'll thank you with probably some good wine, food, and we'll treat you right fine."

Giving a grunt, Eleanor seemed to be weighing her options. What the hell. She was dead poor, tired, and had nothing else better to do. And if she was going to complete her quest, one that she left Goodsprings for in the first place, she'd need help. She nodded. "Alright. Anything you need to warn me about? Advice?"

"Don't die." Nash said, giving a whistle. Eleanor wiped the mouth with the back of her wrist, probably forcing herself to hold back a smart remark that would ruin the moment, and then grabbed her rifle and turned for the door. Heavenly Father hated her badly right now.

She made it into the Bison Steve barely a minute after storming out of the casino. The minute she entered into the Bison Steve, in slow steps, she already knew this would be an awful place to get into a firefight with. The hallways were large and empty, the only real cover in sight being sets of overturned tables, most of which were loaded with landmines. Eleanor would have to clear the area quick, find Beagle, get him to shoot his way out of there. If he was as bad as Nash considered him, then getting him out would be easy. Probably denying him from being shot would be the challenge.

Stealth instincts took over. She crept alongside the tables, peeking over the edge, making sure to step over or clear of landmines, and would progress towards another wall. This worked for a bit until she found a locked door - one that would require a heavy tool for. So, she attempted to lockpick it instead. Snatching a small screwdriver and a bobby pin, she slowly began to unlock it. Maybe this room was the prison - slowly, she curved the screw and twisted the bobby pin in the opposite direction, switching if it stopped or got blocked up. Eleanor had picked file cabinets before - how hard could it be?

A bullet soon just missed her right ear. All alert. Eleanor raised her gun just as a computer slammed into her face - another bullet had hit it hard enough to snatch it off the wires. It tumbled off of her once it made contact, and left her head afloat in dizzyness and pain. She fumbled for the trigger on her gun as a series of six men started to enter the dimly lit room. Eleanor took cover behind a desk, trusted her gun, then fired - it hit the curve of one ugly guy's throat, and he expired. Eleanor moved back and forth between cover, firing when she could get a good shot, and had finally taken down all six of them.

Oh yeah, she was good for this. She shot down a few more hallways, finding a broken down nuca cola machine, tipped over shelves, and file cabinets. Ignoring these, she found a wide open center, two stories, surrounded by tipped over trestle tables, little mattresses, and about nine or ten Gangers, three of which defended a door; Eleanor essayed that this had to of been the prison cell. She didn't hesitate, and fired.

The first round struck a nearby hispanic man in the back - the rest heard the shot and unholstered their guns, but it was too late for a second. Eleanor dragged out a small table, and grabbed a torch that was used to light the room. Bullets shot and pierced the wood around her, and the sound of falling cartridges came flying. One Ganger charged her, one greasy ganger with a rusty knife, but Eleanor jumped up and used the torch itself to pierce the sucker right in the breast before shooting him.

She dragged the table around every so often, firing here and there, but never seeming to actually hit any of the six. They appeared to be smarter, clenching and using their revolvers and rifles with more time and accuracy - the other three were just sloppy. Eleanor made a risky gambit; soon, she found a spare frag.

She threw it; the concussive spray and the release of its atoms filled the room, distracted everyone, and hit no one. Eleanor was sure she had hit something, by hearing a generally painful sound. She looked over the round table, clutching her rifle. At this point, it had fifteen bullets left in it.

Suddenly, Eleanor felt something grab her arm; before she could swivel, her whole body hit the table; it was a caucasian male donning a do-rag, with a knife. He used his arms to shove her up and over the table, throwing her practically into the room. She landed with her head down and her ass up - she fumbled for her rifle, but then a foot stamped on her chest and she felt a levelled click of another pistol near her left ear.

A pair of hands pulled her upright - her cheek was stained with blood, but Eleanor was impassive and impatient at this point. Do-Rag Boy was spinning his steel pistol around his index finger, looking at her with a look of pale indifference. "Ah knew people like you were stupid, but I didn't think this stupid. What will be make of you? Scapegoat? Prisoner? Martyr? Our Victim? Oh, how to take care of you, sweetheart..."

Eleanor simply glared at him. "Why not shoot me?"

"That's too unoriginal. It's more fun to see what we can toy with." Do-Rag said, then put his pistol in a jean pocket and waved his hands. "Do with her what you want."

Eleanor gulped at this. However, before she could see the guns being pointed at her, she heard shuttery pops of gunfire coming from... the prison. Where Beagle was being held. Do-Rag made a frightened look, and Sunglasses (Eleanor was on a roll, even when faced with death) looked just as scared with him.

"What the hell?" Sunglasses said, his aviators nearly dropping to his nose.

"New plan: take her prisoner into the lunchroom, and then kill her like you said." Do-Rag barked, and then over the report of his weapon near Eleanor's eyes the door burst open. Before they even had time to turn around, Eleanor practically felt the guy holding her die, felt him fall to the ground as the bullet entered him. Sunglasses had already fumbled for his revolver, but suddenly his whole face was gone - a misty bloom of pink. Eleanor saw a well-cut man, no more than five foot four, in ostrich boots and black armor beating another one of the six with the stock of his gun. This had to of been Beagle. Had he escaped? But when she heard another gun go off next to her, and saw Do-Rag die, she knew this was not so.

"Honey, we gotta stop meeting like this." the voice said, very energetic. Eleanor didn't even have to look to know who it was - that redhead.

Sonya Kaiser.

How Sonya had found her, Eleanor still had no idea. It was clear Sonya didn't follow her - she had even made a joke about it. But Sonya had in fact heard gunfire and approached in the direction opposite of Goodsprings; soon, she conversed with the NCR, understood, then came in at just the nick of time and had rescued Beagle in doing it. Sonya did say how she did it - she used the second story of the building to her advantage. By using the railing, she had expertly crawled across the story without attracting attention to herself, and had set up a landmine in another room.

She used this mine to detonate, and soon all Gangers ran off in that direction. With that tactic devised, Sonya slipped through the door after hoisting herself over the railing, and ran into the prison: and it wasn't hard to find him, there was a lone guard. He didn't even look like he could shoot straight, but nonetheless Sonya considered him alright; it was only a technical concern, and Sonya had far too little time. They had kicked down the door just in time to save Eleanor from being a prisoner... or worse. Eleanor herself looked like she had aged overnight, and spots of blood were stained on her jumpsuit - Sonya could tell she was injured somehow, how she held herself limp and rigid.

"I'm always saving your ass." Sonya finished, swinging her gun over her back and offering a hand to the woman, who complied wordlessly. Beagle had a distracted air, and only reacted to the sound of his name being mentioned.

"Are you the Deputy?" Eleanor interrogated.

"Indeed I am, good ma'am." Beagle almost rhymed, then continued: "I must say it's been the low point in my law enforcement career today.."

"What the hell happened here?"

"Ah. The Powder Gangers snuck into town in the dead of night and murdered the sheriff and his wife, in bed, while I was sleeping in the office. I watched them, waiting for the right moment to pounce like a cat and arrest the lot of 'em. But they found me in the shadows, and the mice caught the cat, I guess. Kind of ironic how that works."

"You're going to help us fight."

Beagle seemed to agree with her a little too forcibly - probably he had meant just to stand by and take cover. "Of course. I can still shoot. I would never let you fight the kidnappers without, uh, my help." Sonya giggled and grabbed Eleanor's shoulders at this.

"You two argue too much! Come on, we've got a town to save. Duh!" Sonya remarked, though her voice sounded too hollow. Probably having memories of home, and what it had become. Sonya reminded herself to go on an expedition with the local Followers of the Apocalypse organization, to get this town in working order. For good.

"Whatever. If you run, I'll kill you myself." Eleanor hissed, then loaded her gun without any thanks to Sonya or Beagle, then briskly led the way. Sonya only shrugged at the incredulous Beagle, then unholstered her rifle and marched with her.

In that brief interval of time, it only took the Gangers seconds to catch up with these fugitivies - to them, from a karmic standpoint - and open fire with them. Beagle was actually a decent shot, Sonya noted, who took careful shots with his revolver. Eleanor seemed furious, firing recklessly and violently at the Gangers. One of them who approached her she actually flat-out killed by shoving the barrel too far down his throat. Sonya herself had lunged for the table and blocked the door, which gave them some escape to the east; she had shot those who tried to climb over, giving her some space between them and the assailants. However, Eleanor had forcibly kicked the table underneath the Gangers, shooting all those who fell. She seemed almost totally out of it, half of her bullets hitting nothing. Sonya labored to go right without actually talking to the scary bitch, but they had reached the door unscratched in a matter of seconds. Eleanor's bruised face lit up perfectly in the Mojave sun the minute they stepped out. Whatever was going to happen to Eleanor, Sonya knew, it wouldn't of been pretty or appropriate.

"Well now! That was quite an adventure." Beagle announced, his voice sounding too deep for how he looked. "We showed those convicts a thing or two, now didn't we? Breaking ourselves out of a hostage situation, that was quite thrillin'. Not diminishing your roles, by the way."

"The problem is, there's still no law in Primm with the sheriff dead." Sonya conversed.

Eleanor slapped away Sonya's arm, who had just raised it to high five the sheriff. Sonya was almost insulted by how angry Eleanor looked - she had the guts to stand them all up back in Goodsprings, and now she looked like she was about to punch a command officer. "Excuse me, you worthless little coward? YOU'RE the sheriff now. Think straight!"

"No, I'm just a deputy. It's called a chain of command." Beagle informed, who had slowly begun to clasp his fingers around the pistol. Sonya did think Eleanor was capable of doing this man severe harm.

"I think we should set up some elections for sheriff. Not a political pep rally, of course, but something related to that." Sonya offered. They weren't going to get anyway if Eleanor just got angrier. "Like, find a few candidates who can help restore law to Primm, someone brave. If not, Beagle here can take the throne."

Eleanor wetly cleared her throat, clearly infuriated. "This town doesn't even have a good deputy. What kind of idiot runs a town without wetting himself?" Seeing Beagle visibly distressed, Eleanor ignored it and thrust out her thumb and forefinger. She expected to be PAID? "Well I helped rescue your ass. Could you possibly reward me somehow?"

Beagle examined her coolly: Sonya swept her gaze over the two, and any passer-by would probably have thought a confrontation was about to take place. Sonya did as well; she almost put her body in front of this Deputy - with an agile hand, Beagle pulled out a hundred caps out of his own pocket, in a tied bag. He wordlessly handed it to Eleanor, standing back a few paces.

"Thank you for your pat-" Eleanor began, but stopped as Deputy aimed the gun at her hand and shot the bag straight out of it; the caps all dropped with a clickety-clack. Too surprised to even glare, Sonya turned towards Beagle, who seemed all profession now. So much for that insecure boy she had met earlier. He put his gun back on his side, and eyed Eleanor. "I'll pay you, both of you, IF you restore order to Primm. If you refuse, I'll personally throw you out of town and you'll get no pay. Your ultimatum, sweetheart."

Sonya smirked. She turned towards Eleanor, who just seemed aggravated and a little depressed. Finally, a body of acknowledgement seemed to fill her face - where else would she go, a girl with barely any money or ammunition? Having passed a restless night, Eleanor simply nodded and said: "Fine. I'll help you and your lost cause.

"That'd be mighty fine. I heard the Powder Gangers talk about some incarcerated fellow named Meyers - he sounds like a good candidate. Maybe you should get the NCR to help oversee the town - don't know why they haven't already. There'll be an extra two hundred for both of ya'll if you find a mayor, too."

Just keep the money rolling out like eggs in a carton, Sonya thought. This would just make Eleanor easier to deal with. Sonya gave a bright nod, while Eleanor gave a slow acknowledgement. "I'll keep that in mind. Think up questions for the interview." With that, she walked off, Sonya in tow.

They walked in stony silence for a few minutes to the Casino, stopping at the bar. "Thank you for coming back for me." Eleanor said quickly, the first kind thing Sonya had heard come out of her mouth.

"Well, you sort of stole my map. I wanted it back." Sonya joked, and hearing Eleanor's laugh instantly showed a bit of a crack in Eleanor's stern wall. "Well, alright. I actually do know a few people here and there who can take up that job, who have been unemployed for a while - I know a good candidate for mayor, as well - some girl called..."

"Sonya, stay here or go home. I do better on my own." Eleanor spat. Sonya instantly felt insulted, then quipped back with:

"That's not what you said when you were nearly ganged up on by those idiots back there."

Eleanor stayed quiet, visibly annoyed with Sonya. Hopefully she finally felt the same way Sonya did - but eventually, Sonya decided she couldn't stay angry with this wanderer. Who was she, anyways? She asked it physically. When she did, Eleanor just sighed. "I'm from Westside, though I was raised in Jacobstown, long before the Nightkin barged in. When Marcus - a very smart super mutant, by the way - could keep control, he watched over my mother and father. They died, so I decided to go off on my own, and I'm mostly just a freelancer, earning my caps in anyway I can."

"Is that where you're aiming for?" Sonya asked, remembering Eleanor was hell bent on heading for somewhere. Eleanor groaned.

"Yes, and taking care of this piece of dirt is just slowing it down. You've seen the statistics - 80% of the people here are dead or barely surviving, the rest are just lucky they can even function correctly. Jacobstown, everyone near that area, believed in me. In ME. If this whole revolution is going to work, of all the rumors and things being passed around, only Jacobstown can see me through this."

So that was it. The revolution. All about Eleanor. "I knew Marcus, actually. He doesn't seem like the kind to be involved in a revolution. Nevermind that I'm sure he hates the NCR and the Legion alike."

Eleanor exhaled. "That's my point. Go back to Freeside, I can tackle this on my own. Take care of your little town here, throw caution to the wind, be mayor; I don't care. It was nice to meet you, but I'm doing this alone."

"Without any caps?"

"I have one hundred and seventy caps."

"Without lodging?"

"I can rent houses."

"Those cost at least eighty a night."

Eleanor remained silent.

"Don't forget food and good water and good armor. You have no way to protect yourself - I have money, I can help you. Just at least let me accompany you and get you some money in finishing this. Primm is MY hometown, Eleanor. A little time and money, courtesy of that Beagle guy, why complain?"

Eleanor sighed in defeat. Finally, Sonya could see some of that stone wall cracking. Eleanor drained her scotch, turned to Sonya, and nodded helplessly. "Alright, Sonya Kaiser. You have a deal. You help me with this revolution, and I'll cater to your whims."

"Me being involved in the revolution is a different question, Eleanor. That's something I'll have to think about." Sonya declared, taking a sip of whiskey. "But I think we've got a good deal. So, who do you think should be a sheriff, and who should be a mayor?"

Eleanor just growled. "If it was my choice, I'd let that little shrimp run the town on his own."


End file.
